Guest
Whatever sleep I could get came with nightmares again, leaving me breathless, terrified, and covered in sweat. In one, Claire strangled me, screaming, “He was already dead! You killed him!” In another, I was pinned under the weight of my drunken father, unable to escape.
Too scared to close my eyes again, I gave up on trying to sleep around five in the morning. After a quick shower, I put on sweatpants and a T-shirt, and snuck into the kitchen.
Billy Ray was sound asleep, and kept snoring while the coffee maker hissed and puffed, filling the house with the smell of freshly brewed java. I poured myself a cup and slipped out the front door, sitting on the front steps to watch the sunrise.
The neighborhood was peaceful, with only the loud chirps of starlings breaking the silence.
The morning light slowly crept in, bringing hues of violet and purple.
My mind wandered to the new day in court I was about to face, the sense of dread gnawing at me.
What if the jury still found me guilty? What would I do then?
Colton had mentioned filing an appeal.
I didn’t want to think of that. It was terrifying.
Instead, I pushed myself to decide what I would do when all this ended and I’d be free again. Would I stay in Vegas? And what about Colton and me? What had just happened between the two of us? That kiss . . . shouldn’t happen again.
My coffee cup was almost empty when a car turned the corner, waking me from my reverie. The car, an SUV I recognized with an uneasy feeling, pulled up at the curb. Detective Stanek got out and closed the door lightly. It was almost seven.
“Good morning,” he said.
I stood and shook the hand he offered. “Good morning, Detective. Some coffee?”
He shook his head. “Don’t have time,” he said quickly.
He pulled out his phone and showed me the screen.
“After yesterday’s testimony, we went back to the hotel surveillance video and looked at it again, starting from where we saw Winston Donovan arriving at his suite.
A man visited him a couple of hours before, er, his wife came by. ”
The man in the enhanced, blurry image wore a ballcap and shades, and a black jacket without any visible markings, with its collar up.
I didn’t recognize him, although the jacket made me think of the PI, Brad Pendergraft.
When Brad had met me to hand over the photos I needed for Claire, he’d worn a jacket like that, despite the heat.
But this man was thinner, and the part of his face that showed was clean-shaven.
That earlier sense of dread returned.
“Who is he?” I asked.
“Unknown, at this point,” Stanek replied. “We’re still looking. Once we have a clearer image, we might call on you to see if you recognize him.” He played a short video. “See here? Winston Donovan was still alive when this man knocked on his door.”
The short video showed Winston opening the door, exchanging a few words with the man, and then inviting him inside.
“It was someone he knew,” Stanek said, slipping the phone into his pocket and extending his hand. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” he said.
I didn’t care about his apology. “You only saw this now? You didn’t think to look before?
” I was appalled. I’d heard about lazy cops cutting corners, but this was a murder, and Stanek didn’t seem like the type to screw things up so badly.
A little jaded, yes. Tired of work and life, maybe.
But not the kind who didn’t care if an innocent person was thrown in jail or executed. “Why?”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, visibly embarrassed. “We didn’t, because everything pointed at you, including the video.”
It didn’t make sense. Before finding the murder weapon in my car, before coming to the house to arrest me that morning, he must’ve had something else to tell him where to look. “How did this pointing happen, exactly?”
“It was an anonymous tip.”
“Ah . . . That’s cop speak for you’re not going to tell me?” I chuckled, shaking my head in disbelief.
“No . . . It was anonymous, an email sent from an encrypted server, with the photo of Winston proposing to you earlier that day.”
“And I was wearing the exact same clothes you saw on the hotel security video,” I replied, finally understanding what had happened. “Very nicely done,” I mumbled.
Claire. She’d had that photo and been able to send it to the police.
“But here’s a catch,” Stanek said, loosening his tie a little.
He was already sweating, and the sun had barely inched above the rooftops.
“The anonymous-tip photo we got was in high resolution, not like the crappy images we got from the restaurant’s security footage. Someone was watching you. Or him.”
I smiled sadly. No mystery there. “Thank you, Detective. I hope you find out who that man was, but I still believe his wife killed him.”
He paused, his expression shifting—eyebrows lifting slightly, lips pressing together in a half smirk, half consideration. “Huh,” he said, tilting his head. “It’s always the wife, right?” A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, the kind that carried both amusement and skepticism.
Turning to leave, he added with a glance over his shoulder, “Word is, you’re getting an acquittal. No way they’re finding you guilty after Claire Donovan’s testimony.”
I nodded, feeling the grip of dread once more. “Let’s hope so.”
“Well, in any case, you have more than enough cause for an appeal. And one hell of a lawyer. By the way, how did you score Blake for your defense? He’s only taking, um, certain cases.”
The change in his tone of voice made me frown a little. “What do you mean? Like, commercial cases?”
His hearty laughter echoed on the silent street, silencing the chirping birds for a moment. “You mean you don’t know?” He looked at me as if he’d never seen me before and I was the funniest thing ever. “Ha! Next thing you’ll tell me is you found him in the Yellow Pages.”
I laughed quietly, more to hide the tension I was feeling. “No . . . he and I go way back. We grew up together, in Texas.” My frown returned. “What am I missing, Detective?”
He laughed some more. “I’ll be damned . . . Ask your old friend what the last case he defended was. The name of his client.” Then he climbed behind the wheel and drove off.
I pulled out my phone, ready to search the internet. I didn’t want to tell Colton about this conversation. No reason, just instinct. I was just typing in the search string when the door opened and Colton came out, neatly dressed for court.
“Ready?”